


Sandcastles

by itsdeianeira



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sappy, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Sorry Not Sorry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdeianeira/pseuds/itsdeianeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence fell between them, while Lydia's glance colored with the same shade of sadness Stiles had always tried to protect her from. He could catch sight of her thoughts tangling up in her mind. He had been thinking alone for too long that afternoon, and Lydia's voice had done nothing but soothe the headache caused by the racking of his brain. Now she was the one spacing out, rumbling somewhere only she knew, walking down the memory lane to live her past all over again, to review that sequence of catastrophes that had left her every time a bit more shattered, but stronger nevertheless. It was Stiles' turn to bring her out of it.</p><p>But Lydia beat him to the draw. “Why do our lives need to be so messed up, Stiles? Why can't everything be a little easier?” she prompted.</p><p>Stiles laughed.</p><p>“Lyds,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing has ever been easy for us. The first time we met we were both running away.”</p><p>Lydia eased her chin down on her knees, a weak smile rising on her face, eyes staring into nothingness. But that smile faded right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandcastles

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Sandcastles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523922) by [itsdeianeira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdeianeira/pseuds/itsdeianeira)
  * A translation of [Sandcastles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523922) by [itsdeianeira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdeianeira/pseuds/itsdeianeira). 



> I've always thought [Two Pieces by Demi Lovato](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nFnI50zipE) was a Stydia song. I kept seeing this vivid scene about them on a beach, I couldn't really get it out of my head... Ensues another Teen Wolf songfic. 
> 
> The first part is pre-canon (fuck yeah, kid fic!), while the second half is post-canon, so the series takes place somewhere in between. I tried to explain some canon elements, but you will inevitably find some divergences.  
> It might be extremely sappy, so If this gets you sick, please (please!!!) forgive me. I don't even know what I'm doing. 
> 
> Also, English is not my first language so if you want to point out any mistake in the comments I'd be grateful.  
> You can find the Italian Translation [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3523922).

_There's a boy, lost his way, looking for someone to play._

 

It was one of those days when he would inevitably end up feeling lonely. The morning had started so well, but then something had changed, something in that sombre sky had clouded the souls of the people surrounding him, and everyone seemed suddenly unable to smile. He was just the nth victim of the same plague affecting his parents, who were on the lower floor letting the voices from the TV fill the silences in their big house.

Stiles wasn't a fool, he knew bad weather wasn't the true reason for such misery afflicting them. He knew how much his mother loved rain. A year earlier, on a day like that, Claudia would have persuaded him to come out of his room and bake his favorite cookies with her, Scott would have called him to come home and play with him, while his father would have probably had to run to the police station for an emergency caused by the rough weather.

Now the sheriff was actually on the couch instead, embracing a weak, debilitated Claudia, whom would resume sobbing from time to time.

Stiles had stayed with them all through the Met's match, but his first exult had spited his father's reproach that made him slump back in the armchair with a thud, agape. He had watched the rest of the match in perfectly silence, rolled up into a ball on that same armchair, holding back from cheering or even breathing.

After that, he had locked himself in his room, slamming the door closed behind his back, trying in vane to keep the sadness outside.

All the laughter, the running upstairs, the music and the perfumes that once used to come from the kitchen, lately were not a reality anymore, as they appeared to be mere memories of the old times. They were nothing but ghosts whose wails kept echoing along the hallways, screams which only Stiles could make out. He heard them thundering relentlessly in his mind, while he watched the walls closing him in, depriving him of air. He closed his eyes, forcing the warm tears he hadn't even realized he was weeping to roll down his cheeks, as to shake off the negative thoughts.

He looked at his own reflex on the glass and tried to smile, using every muscle of his little face, but pain seemed seated in his eyes so deep he could not hide it. His smile dropped, tired.

Maybe he was the cause of all their woe, maybe if he had just left them alone...

Stiles looked back at his reflex again: eyebrows furrowed, lips curled and eyes lost, miserable. He nodded firmly to himself, then turned around and took his backpack from the chair he had left it on yesterday only to put it on the bed and start filling it.

  
_There's a girl in the window tears rolling down her face._

 

Lydia knew she was meteoropathic.

She was too sensitive to humidity and boredom, and not being able to see the blue of the sky at day was getting her a bit antsy, almost claustrophobic.

She wasn't a rain person. She loved the sun, the summer, the sea and the warm sand where to submerge her feet. Dreary days like this made her suffering, even more if they were Saturdays.

During the week, the rain could have been an excuse to focus for good on her science lessons, and maybe to read during lunch time without her classmates feeling the need to invite her to play outside. But Saturdays like this made her feel like a bird in a cage, enclosed by her room's four walls, with nothing to do.

Huffing out loudly, she let herself fall backward bouncing lightly on her mattress and looking up at the paleness of her ceiling. She had spent entire afternoons studying it and she was convinced she could have wrote down a report at least a five pages long about it by now. She could have listed its imperfections, mapped the small cracks his father kept on promising he would have plastered up, and pinpointed every single – almost visible – stain which had inescapably appeared around the chandelier.

That dull whiteness was starting to make her sick. Lydia wanted her room to be lilac, not white. But her father was used to make promises without delivering, and Lydia, at the time-honored age of eight, was beginning to feel duped. No matter how excellent she could be at school or stand up in her dance class, it was never enough to make him proud of his little girl. There were always more important problems to solve, more urgent things to do and more suitable situations to talk about it. And somehow, every day ended up between the yells on the lower floor and the sobs muffled by her pillow on the upper one.

With not enough energies to move a single joint, Lydia turned her eyes toward the window, letting the soft duvet her cheek was currently eased down, absorbing the slowly descendant tears. When the first of many raindrops slammed mildly on the glass, she could not decide whether she was feeling more like laughing or getting angry at such a bad joke. Now even the weather was mocking her.

A thunderclap resounded in the distance, the windowpanes vibrating slightly. But inside those walls there was not enough space for any sound other than her parents' shouting. So the thunder was immediately covered by the clatter of some porcelain shattering to the ground.

Sometimes she wished she had a place to run away to, some friends to visit to escape these awful daily scenes. But Lydia had no friend. Her cleverness tent to scare or annoy her peers away. No one could stand her fussiness and her tendency to correct whichever logic or semantic mistake. No one was willing to listen to her scientific lectures.

Hence, Lydia was alone.

In that moment, something leaped on the bed next to her, shaking her a little. Jerking around, Lydia saw her puppy snuggling up on her comforter by her side, easing its snout down on her belly.

Prada had arrived a few days earlier, when Lydia's mother, tired of seeing her sad and demotivated, had brought her to the Beacon Hills vet lab to adopt a dog. At first, Lydia has been enthusiastic about having a puppy all for herself, but when they had come back home her father had made a hell out of their house, forbidding the dog to come out of Lydia's room. Lydia hadn't complained.

Prada's little snout was now pressing on her side, nuzzling between her body and the cover, seeking shelter from the storm raging outside.

“Don't worry. You're safe here.”

But in all honesty, she was speaking out the things she had been repeating for months into her head while trying to convince herself. Rubbing the puppy's fur to reassure it, she found out that, one caress after another, as the dog relaxed, even her tremor grew dim.

Okay, maybe she wasn't completely alone as she thought she was...

Suddenly on the lower floor a bang broke into the illusory calmness that had started growing in Lydia's head. Prada jumped down from the bed and barked at the closed door, in the direction of the noise she'd just heard. Lydia sprang up and stomped towards the closet. When she opened it, her purple rain boots were perfectly in her range of vision.

“Prada, let's go walking.”

 

_We're only lost children, trying to find a friend,  
Trying to find our way back home._

 

“Amazing idea, Stiles! Going out right before a storm. Brilliant, really. What would Scott say seeing you here?” Stiles thought out loud, kicking a fallen branch.

“Ouch, ouch, ouuuuuuuuch!”

Nope. Definitely not a fallen branch.

He bounced on one foot for a bit, kicking the air with the other one in the intent of scrolling the pain from it. When it finally fade away, he let himself slide his back down the log until he was sitting on the same thick, exposed root he had bumped on, which was so damp not just his pants but also his underwear would have gotten wet. If only Claudia had saw him now, she would have scolded him. Or maybe John would have done it for her, since she was so powerless she could only smile faintly from time to time...

Stiles was tired to the point he couldn't even remember why he had run away from home. He had wandered for hours, walking towards the Preserve, and now that he was in the midst of it, he didn't know why he had headed right there in first place. Maybe he had hoped that once into the woods he would have been hard to find. He wasn't sure.

What he knew was that his initial idea now seemed idiotic. He just wanted to come home and forget about that horrible day. He was roaming around for hours but he seemed to get nowhere. Everything was so alike in that place. Every tree was the same and at the same distance from the others. It looked like a maze. He should have brought a compass, he thought. But with his clumsiness he had even forgotten his watch. And, even if he'd have it, he wouldn't know how to use it.

He huffed.

Stiles let his head fall backwards a little too fast, bumping it clumsily against the log. _Ouch!_

A drop filtrated through the leaves of the same tree he was sheltering under, falling on his nose, and he reached to dry it with the cuff of his hoodie. It has been a while since it had started pouring rain and something in those clouds was telling him it would not have stopped anytime soon. He wanted to cry, burst into tears and scream loud enough for his father to hear him.

But while the idea was flickering in his mind, a cracked sob broke through the damp air, steadily growing louder until it overgrew the pounding of water.  
Whoa! His thoughts were so intense they almost felt real.  
But suddenly the hiccup became a full, honest-to-god cry and Stiles started doubting he was making it up. He looked around searching for a sound source, but the whole place looked so deserted.

Wait, what if it was a ghost? After all, that forest had the whole look to be hunted by magic creatures... He felt the panic raising in his small chest, his heart hammering furiously. He closed his eyes and try to breathe even, even though it was too hard. He tried to center his mind on the rain's sound and when a tear slid down his sharpened cheekbone he pretended it was water from the sky.

When he had almost regained himself, he felt something abruptly brushing his thigh. Stiles jerked up, screaming out loud in scare, but when looking down the culprit entered his sight he covered his mouth with both hands. A puppy dog of unknown race was standing at his feet, which strange. Scott had this certain obsession with dogs and was particularly keen in filling Stiles with all the relative notions every time one would walk them by. He really never missed a chance. But this specific breed had never crossed their way.

“And you? Where did you come out from?” asked the human, kneeling down to caress the animal. Noticing the leash the puppy was tugging along by the collar, Stiles started looking for a name tag under the long and soaking fur. “Prada? Is that your name?”  
The dog wailed under his touch, almost like it was seeking for protection. It looked up from the forest pavement with its intense, black eyes and, once it was sure it had gathered the kid's attention, it turned around and started walking back in the direction it had come from.

“Where are you going?” Stiles called out to the dog.

The puppy came to a halt for a second to cast him a significant glance, just to start scampering again under the rain. Stiles rushed after it, in all hopes to not get lost more than he already had.

 

__***__

Lost. Lydia was officially lost. Great. And if that wasn't enough, the pouring rain didn't seem willing to cease any time soon. If only those clouds would have rolled, she could have seen the sun's position to guess what time it was, and maybe even orient herself. But of course she had chosen to run away from home in the most cloudy and rainy Sunday of the year. Congrats, genius.  
Her raincoat was shielding her a little, but her hair peaking out the hood and falling down her shoulders was soaking wet anyway, just like her little dog's drenched fur.

“You know Prada, I believe your keeper is not that smart, after all. It was a dumb move stepping into the Preserve. Truly senseless.” Lydia kept on looking around hopelessly, until she understand she'd rather give up and wait. She sat down under a tree seeking shelter for the pup nestled beside her. “It always looks so easy in the movies to run away from home. I bet Dora the Explorer has never had these kind of problems. 'Where's the mountain, kids?'” she said, mimicking the cartoon's voice. “It's right behind you!” she hissed in response at herself. That show was ridiculous, anyway. “Real stupid,” she chocked out.

A teardrop she didn't even realized she was holding back lined her face. She wanted to stifle that cry like she had done in the last months, but something she could not contain inside her chest anymore finally burst and she found herself sobbing. At least, she thought, out there nobody could have seen her nor hear her, she could have eventually given vent to her sadness without draw any attention to herself.

After a few minutes crying, Lydia brought a hand to her face rubbing her eyes and wiped away the last tears. Recollecting herself, however, she noticed something were missing. Prada wasn't curled up by her side anymore. In the act of crying Lydia had let go of the leash without realizing it and now the dog was probably rambling somewhere, alone, in the middle of thousands of trees so similar they look like they were made with a stamp.  
Prada was missing because of her.  
Lydia started crying even louder.  
“Prada!” she yelled between the tears. “Prada, where are you?”  
Nothing. Not even a whine.  
“Prada! Wher- Hey! You scared me, you know?” The little one nestled on her lap, dirtying her cloak with mud. In that instant Lydia heard footsteps coming closer behind her. Terrified, she makes herself as small as possible, squeezing her pup and squinting her eyes not to see whichever scaring thing was coming for her.

“Hey puppy, where are y-”  
Lydia looked up from where she was sitting and everything she could make out was two big chestnut brown eyes staring at her bewildered. After a couple of beats in which the pelting down of the water had taken over any other sound, the kid in front of her opened his mouth. But then he closed it again, tearing his glance away, probably not sure of what to say. Then he looked down at Prada.

“Is it yours?” he asked, pointing at the little dog.

“ _She_ ”, Lydia pointed out. “It's a she.” The boy looked back down in guilt.

“Sorry. I didn't know,” he stated, sad.

“It doesn't matter,” she added with a faint smile. “I am the sorry one. It's just that... it's been a bad day.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed.

Lydia nodded and snuffled.

“What are you two doing in the Preserve under the rain?”

“We got lost.” Desolate, Lydia let free a breath she has been unconsciously holding back for too long. The kid stifled a half-laugh.

“What's so funny?” she ask, kind of irritated.

“It's just odd. We chose the same day and the same place to get lost.”

It was then that her mood joined the boy's and Lydia chuckle, too.

“Murphy's Law's victims,” she said amused. And this time the kid burst into an honest and thunderous guffaw.

“I think I'm its favorite victim!”

“You know the Murphy's Law?” she asked incredulous the boy had grasp the scientific reference.

“Mmh-mh!” he nodded determined. “My father explained it to me the first time my toast fell to the floor landing on the buttered side,” he cackled.

Lydia smiled for the first time in that horrendous day and she hold up her hand to him: “Lydia Martin!”

He lingered for a bit in hesitation, but overcoming it he grab it and shook it vehemently. “Stiles,” he said. “Stilinski.”

Lydia chuckled. “Stiles? Funny one.”

“It's a nickname. No one could ever spell my real name right so I just gave up eventually,” he stated with a funny face, almost crossing his eyes. Lydia crack up.

“Stiles” she repeated grinning, while tasting the sound of that alliterating pet name. “I like that. It suits you.” The child – Stiles – beamed at that words.

“Thanks!” he called out happy.

 

_We don't know where to go, so I'll just get lost with you.  
We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together right, we fit together right._

 

“Why did you run away from home?” Stiles mumble as he chewed a mouthful of Reese's he had shared with Lydia once he had taken his sit beside her under the tree.  
She hesitate. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, but Stiles too had got lost while trying to get away, so maybe she could trust him.

“You first,” she told him finally.

He swallow the bite, stared the rest of the chocolate bar in his hand with a lost glance, he re-wrapped it and put it away.  
“My mother is sick. She has this disease with a strange name, “dementia something”, I don't really know. Um... Doctors say it's consuming her brain.” In Stiles' mind that illness was represented as a monster, a parasite feeding on his mother's brain, a demon featured in most of his nightmares. “It's acute and she's very weak and people keep saying I'm a disaster at home, so I went away not to annoy them but I couldn't go to Scott – he's my best friend – 'cause he and Mrs McCall had another important matter and are not home.”  
The girl was impressed of how many words the kid could put into a sentence speaking everything in just one breath.

“Aren't you afraid not to see her anymore?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. That's why I decided to go back home. If only it could stop raining...” the boy sighed. Then he turned around to face her: “Your turn. Why did you run away?”

Lydia let out an even resounding sigh than Stiles' and mustered up her courage.  
“My parent's can't stop fighting. My father makes my mum cry and I can't stand it. He makes me angry and I'm constantly sad. My mum too is always sad.”

“You didn't have a friend to stay at?”

Lydia shook her bowed head. She didn't like admitting it, but with Stiles she didn't felt the need to hide it. “I have no friend,” she sheepishly reported, lowering her glance towards Prada still curled up on her lap.

Stiles eyes went wide. “That's not possible. Everybody has a friend!”

“I don't. I just have my Prada. My schoolmates don't understand me. The girls in my dance classes hate me.” Before she could even realized it, Lydia had resumed crying.

Stiles looked around at her, his eyes widening once again. That glance was the reason why she didn't like to cry in public. _Crying is for weak people_ , his father used to say, and she didn't want to seem weak. “I don't cry usually...” she sobbed. “Sorry.”

When Lydia squeezed her eyelids shut to stop her teardrops, she felt a foreign warmness embracing her. She was shocked to find out Stiles' small arms were wrapping her closed. Lydia melted in that gesture and she let the kid comforting her until he loosed the grip. When she looked him in the eyes, on his face he was split into the widest grin showing all his teeth. Well, less one, actually.

“You don't have to be sorry. You're beautiful when you cry.” Lydia flushed red and out of words she thanked him shyly. “And you're classmates are stupid anyway,” Stiles continued. “I bet you'd be an amazing friend.”

“You really think so?”

The boy nodded. And like he had been suddenly struck by an epiphany he added, “You know what? I'll be your best friend!”

“What about Scott? Wouldn't he be jealous?”

“Naaaaa, Scott is my brother. From another mother, I mean,” he laughed, “We're friends since ever.”

“That would be great!” she exclaimed beaming, “Having a friend, I mean.”  
Stiles nodded again with a movement of his neck that was so rigid and violent that Lydia wondered how he hadn't pulled a muscle yet.

“It's settled then. We sit close during lunch at school and we could do homework together and-”

“Promised?” she interrupted him.

“Promised,” he grinned, offering his pinky.

And as to strengthen that promise, the clouds started rolling away letting some ray to filter through.

 

_These dark clouds over me rain down and roll away.  
We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together like..._

 

They had made it. They were finally out of that labyrinth of trees.  
As soon as the clouds had lifted enough to let the already dying sun to lit the air again, Lydia had been able to get the three of them on the pathway that had lead them out of the woods. Damp and tired, they were heading to Stiles' place where they would have asked the sheriff to take Lydia home.

“You know he let me sit with him on his cruiser, sometimes. It's awesome! You should try,” her new playmate had said enthusiastically arguing his proposal. And who was her to decline it?

Finally, Stiles suddenly came to a halt and turned around to face her. “It's here,” he stated gesturing with his head towards the house in front of them. “Am I still much damp? I don't want mom to worry.”

Lydia scrutinized him from head to toes. “Mmh. Your hair.”

He quickly brushed his fingers through his hair flattening it and making Lydia burst into laughter when he looked up at her again. “Wet hair suits you,” she asserted, ruffling it with the hand that was free from Prada's leash. Stiles felt his cheeks flushing furiously red, but the uneasiness didn't last long.

The front door was abruptly thrust open, letting out a visibly upset sheriff, with his cruiser keys in his hand, ready to dash into a deep research for his missing son.

At the sight of Stiles, John's eyes went wide, and with a single, long step he bridge the gap between them. Stiles stiffened in his shoulders and turned his face offering his cheek waiting for a resounding slap, but totally unexpectedly he felt being wrapped into his father's arms.

“Thank God, I thought something had happened to you. Where have you been?”

“I... I'm sorry, dad,” Stiles burst out crying and Lydia's heart had a moment of hesitancy at the sight of her new friend, so tough until then and now melting in sincere tears.

“It's alright, kiddo,” the man reassured him, soothing his back over the soaked clothes.

“Now come inside, or you gonna catch a cold.”

The sheriff moved back aside towards the entrance, but Stiles didn't move. “We have to drop Lydia, first!” he blurt out.

His dad set his glance on the little girl and her dog, smiling. Lydia had never seen her father grinning in such way, neither she remembered she had ever received a hug like the one the sheriff had just squeezed Stiles into. He got closer and kneeling down to level her glance and asked her: “Where do you live, sweetheart?”

Lydia looked at Stiles overawed, but when he winked regardless of his lashes were still moist with tears, she let herself succumb to the kid's optimism. She looked back at the man bowed in front of her, and smiled.

 

_Two pieces of a broken heart_

 

The following Moday Lydia had waited for Stiles at the school entrance. She had delayed until the first bell, risking to be late for her first period, but Stiles never arrived. Not that day, nor the one after, not even the one after that. When at the end of the week, hearing someone calling for Scott at lunch, she had recognized his best friend's best friend, she had strutted closer and asked him about Stiles. Shocked by the sudden interest of the girl, he had simply told her Stiles would have not come back any time soon. That was enough for Lydia to understand Stiles' mother had got worst.

Now, sitting in the waiting room of the courthouse, Lydia continued repeating herself the sadness for her parent's divorce should have been nothing in comparison to what his friend, wherever he was, was probably feeling at the moment. She had no right to cry for something so banal, and yet she couldn't avoid it. She was furious. With herself to be so childish, with her father for having her and her mom suffering and with the whole world. It literally made her wanna scream so loud to fill those spacious, monochromatic halls with her voice, still rough from crying.

She wanted to scream, and instead she read.  
Or at least that's what she was attempting to. In vane. Constantly returning on the same line of the book in her hands..

“Harry Potter? Ew. That's for nerds.”

Lydia gazed up from the page to face to icy blue and cocky eyes.

“Excuse me?” she asserted, instinctively raising an eyebrow.

“I said that book is for nerds,” the boy repeated with a presumptuous attitude, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Oh well, nobody asked for your opinion,” Lydia got rid of him, easing her eyes back on the printed paper. From the silence that came after, she understood the kid had been gobsmacked. Good. He deserved it.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you.”

“But you did,” she retort, without looking away from the word _potion_.

“But I also said I'm sorry.” Lydia did not respond. “I'm Jackson. We go to the same school, don't we? I think I saw you at rec-”

The aisle' door abruptly swung open, letting out a worn out and tired Mrs Martin. “Lydia, come on, let's go home,” she suggested already pacing towards the exit but still extending her hand in her daughter's direction.

Lydia leaped down her seat as she closed her book to catch up with her mother. When she was on the verge of leaving the courthouse, she turned around to check the boy who was still staring at her with an indecipherable look. She gave him a faint but sweet smile and once he overcame the shock, he reciprocated.

He had beautiful eyes, after all.

 ***

Being back at school wasn't exactly easy.

Scott was the only permanent feature in a world of variables. Now his schoolmates would watch intimidate and speechless. The sheriff's son who lost his mom, everybody thought following with their eyes along the aisles. He could almost make out their mental speculations through the pitiful glance everyone would cast at him from afar, without the audacity to get him closer for a hug or a pat on the back. Even his teachers would not dare scold him for the plummeting grades he was apparently gathering in the last few months anymore. He had gone from invisible to popular like that, effortlessly. And the point was, Stiles didn't mean to be popular. Not at such cost, not for compassion.

And the worst part had been catching Lydia's glimpse when they'd seen each other for the first time in ages. From the distance, that is. Because she, just like anyone else, hadn't got the nerve to approach him, as if his grief might have being found out contagious. He would have always remembered those wide, glistening eyes on the verge of crying, that had stared at him for a few seconds, dithering, being at her wits' end. But fear had taken the upper hand, and she had ended up running away into the girls restroom.

Stiles wasn't angry.

He knew better.

He knew Lydia's reaction was not a rejection. He had seen the pain and the dread in her eyes, the terror of not knowing how to comfort him, not knowing what words to use. Stiles was convinced and he would have never blamed her for not keeping her promise.

It wasn't her fault. It really wasn't...

But that didn't spare him the inviolable right to feel hurt.  
It was like he had crossed a threshold to an alternate universe where everything was upside down. Once, he would have never caught anyone's attention, not even stepping into the class with a bag on his head, and the teachers would have pushed him to give his best even after marking his paper with a red A. Stiles missed all that, he wanted to go back in time and cross that line back to his old life again, the real one where he could have hugged his healthy mum and told her how he loved her and how he would have missed her in the farthest future possible.

Thinking all that was impossible made Stiles die inside.  
Before he could realized it, he was slamming the bathroom door open to take refuge in a small, quiet stall, where to come up for air. Panic attacks had started the day his mother had been hospitalized, gradually worsening after her... well, _after_.

Stiles analyzed his reflection on the mirror and rubbed his hair still messy from that morning when he hadn't worried to comb it.

_Wet hair suits you._

Lydia's words kept buzzing in his head like a bee ready to sting him. His mother used to say the same thing when after the bath she used to pass her fingers through the long strands in order to free his forehead. None of them would have had the chance to tell him now. Those locks had no reason to be anymore, just like any other thing that had been part of his past. That Stiles existed no more.

  
_I know where we could go and never feel let down again._  
_We could build sandcastles, I'll be the queen, you'll be my king._  
_We're only lost children, trying to find a friend,_  
_Trying to find our way back home._

 

“I knew I'd find you here.”

Stiles was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't even noticed the brushing of feet on the sand behind him. He jerked around and felt a smile being drawn on his face.

Lydia had the red gown she had worn that same morning still on her shoulders, just now it was open and ruffled by the wind, letting show the thigh black dress under it. The inevitable heels – in which she had stepped on the podium for her valedictorian speech to the class 2015 – were dangling from her right hand, and her strawberry blonde hair, let loose in long waves, were coiled by the Ocean breeze while she strutted toward him.

“Are you going to come home and celebrate with us tonight? Or were you planning to leave for college and run from Beacon Hills once and for all without saying goodbye?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

“I might have considered escaping...” he smiled bitterly, craning slightly his head and wearing his usual contemplative expression. Only after a long sigh, eyes still glued to the sea, Stiles went on: “Malia won't be there.”

“Yeah. Actually she asked us to bid you goodbye for her...”

Irony of fate. If one year ago Malia would have gladly left Lydia die in the desert, now she was giving her a goodbye message for her own boyfriend. Well, _ex_ boyfriend by now. And technically he and Malia had already had their farewell the night before, but still... _whatever._

“Is that why you run away right after the ceremony? Not to see her leaving?”

To be honest, no. Malia didn't make Stiles drift away from the Beacon Hills High School aisle in such a rush that morning. Or maybe yes, but not in the way Lydia thought she did. The truth was when Malia had showed up in his room to farewell him the night before, Stiles had felt nothing. He should have felt empty after loosening their embrace, it should have triggered a sense of lack, the nostalgia of something he was about to lose and he probably would have never gained back. In the past, he wouldn't have been able to sleep without Malia's presence, he would have tossed and turned in bed, uncomfortable, searching for a missing piece of his routine. The previous night, on the contrary, he had lost sleep wondering what had changed in the last months without him realizing it. When had he fallen out of love with Malia?

“No. I mean, I don't know...” Lydia looked at him suspiciously. “I just needed a quiet place to reflect.”

She smiled, looking down at her feet. Stiles knew Lydia knew. She understood the meaning that seaside had for him, that piece of his childhood he loved to come back to in order to find some kind of connection with his past, with his mother. He had talked about it before and he was sure she still remembered.

“Sometimes I get the impression you reflect too much, Stilinski. Your thoughts are so loud even I can hear them.”  
Stiles cackled. And when his eyes were finally on her, something at the pit of his stomach told him that moment – right there, with that company – was right. It meant something. Suddenly all the speculations from yesterday night were useless.

“I realized I don't love her anymore.” He blurted out before he could think it twice.

Lydia's eyes went wide and for a moment Stiles thought he had seen hope flickering in there. “What does it mean?”

Stiles told her about the previous evening, about how he had racked in vane to bring back the moment he had stopped feeling the original passion towards the girl.  
“I look at her and I feel nothing but a strong friendship. As if a cold wind had abruptly blown upon the flame extinguishing it irretrievably. I don't understand when it happened, nor how.”

Silence fell between them, while Lydia's glance colored with the same shade of sadness Stiles had always tried to protect her from. He could catch sight of her thoughts tangling up in her mind. He had been thinking alone for too long that afternoon, and Lydia's voice had done nothing but soothe the headache caused by the racking of his brain. Now she was the one spacing out, rumbling somewhere only she knew, walking down the memory lane to live her past all over again, to review that sequence of catastrophes that had left her every time a bit more shattered, but stronger nevertheless. It was Stiles' turn to bring her out of it.

But Lydia beat him to the draw. “Why do our lives need to be so messed up, Stiles? Why can't everything be a little easier?” she prompt.

Stiles laughed.

“Lyds,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing has ever been easy for us. The first time we met we were both running away.”

Lydia eased her chin down on her knees, a weak smile rising on her face, eyes staring into nothingness. But that smile faded right away.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“About what?” Was that about Malia, or...?

“For not having had enough faith. For not having fought by your side.”

And with that he knew she wasn't talking about the zillions of supernatural entities they had faced together. No, this was much more private.

“Lydia, we were eight. Each one with our own battle to fight.”  
Stiles' smile felt bitter, but sincere. She sighed before resuming to speak.

“When my father walked away it was like the world had crumbled beneath my feet. I just wanted to make him pay for making me and my mum suffer and for loosing the grip on his family as easily as you let a broken pot fall into a trash bin. I was so angry and exhausted. God, Stiles, how can you be exhausted at nine?”

At some point along her ramble, Stiles had stopped staring at the sea to focus on her instead, on her expressions. He had cut out the soothing lapping of the waves on the shoreline so as to let the girl's soar voice be the only substance to flood his mind.

“But than that rage became my armor. No one could have scratched me as long as I acted as an Ice Queen. I didn't want to suffer again and that facade were so comfortable, so, so...” Lydia always found the right words. She, who knew the meaning of the most unlikely technical terms. The fact she wasn't able to speak her mind said it all about the way her emotions were overcoming the clarity of her thoughts. “Pure God complex! Designer clothes and a boy to worship the earth I walked on were everything the new me would ask for. While the old me stayed dozy, relegate in a too tight-fitting corner of my mind where she contorted, dying from the desire to feel something in that cold, barren chest, once again. I was dead, Stiles. I was dead and I didn't realize it. I had everything I could wish for, but at the same time I had nothing. But I couldn't let it loose, not when I knew the price I would have to pay for my emotions was an indomitable pain.”

Stiles smiled at the memory of a little teary Lydia, a fragile girl with a permanently broken heart. The Lydia he had known many years before, the one he had watched coming back to life in the last few years after the arrival of the supernatural. His chortle make the girl turn around to face him.

“I still have this clear image of you at my mom's funeral, tough.”

“How-?”  
“Oh, come on Lyds. You've seriously thought I hadn't noticed you? You were crying sitting second raw in the left aisle. I saw your mother, and then you beside her.”

When the surprise faded from her face, she smiled back.

“My mother never grasp why I kept crying. She thought it was because of my father and she wouldn't say a word. She just kept brushing my back with her warm hand.” Chuckle. “She couldn't know I was grieving for the only friend I'd ever had until then.” Closing her eyes, she slowly breathe in the salty air before releasing it. “Besides Prada, I mean.” She added, faking haughtiness. To that, they both started laughing, but something about that tell-tale statement seemed to trigger a siren call in Stiles' mind.

“I was glad to see you there. Really glad. It was then I realized you still cared. I mean, I never stopped believing it, but, you know... And that thought kept me going.”

But Lydia's sense of guilt for abandoning him would not let her go. “You've always known my old-self was somewhere under 'that cold, lifeless exterior', uh? You went on for years grasping on a memory...”

“You're wrong, Lyds. That person wasn't just a memory for me. She has been in front of my eyes everyday. I saw her in your small gestures, in the way your face relaxed when you used to spend lunch time reading a physics book, or the way you frowned at Jackson when he would dump on Prada. She's always been there. Just, your stubbornness prevented her from surfacing.”

This time, Lydia's astonishment lurked on her face a bit longer. A bitter laughter slipped out from her mouth unintentionally, pushed out by the lumbering thought of Stiles suffering because of a whim of hers, because of the selfishness that had gripped on her heart at some point while internalizing the pain, and hadn't let go of it again.

Stiles couldn't avoid giving her an inquisitive look when she called off the distance between their shoulders and, moving her hair on a side, leaned her head on the allow of his neck. When he was sure she were settled, he kissed her head and turned back to stare at the horizon, bringing his mind in the same direction of her glance.

They stayed like this for long, listening to the sounds around them. And right there, in that silence full of them, Stiles' mind started wondering, projecting them on a forecast future that until now had seemed empty, like a blank page in front of which you're not able to give a start to your own story. Now, in that embrace, he suddenly remembered he had thousands of ideas to fill the first page and perhaps even the following ones.

It hit him like a bolt out of the blue.

He had never thought about his future with Malia. Sure, it was true that, between a supernatural menace and an other, imagine any kind of future in Beacon Hills had become really hard. But now that Lydia was there, sitting beside him on the sand, still wearing the ceremony gown, not even worrying about the cover of clouds raging on the beach in promise of a storm, Stiles felt vested with a determination he hadn't felt in a long time.  
Although admitting it brought about a tremendous guilt in his gut, Stiles were certain whichever life he would have chosen would have meant something as long as Lydia was by his side.

  
_We could build sandcastles, I'll be the queen, you'll be my king._  
_We're only lost children, trying to find a friend,_  
_Trying to find our way back home._

 

The rain was destined to surprise them once again, and in no time they found themselves drenched to the core, running around to seek refuge.

“A watch tower? Seriously, Martin, you couldn't find anything better?” Lydia burst into a guffaw, one of those that raise from your belly and force you to get a grip on something in support. There, watching Lydia leaning against a white woody pillar, with the gown overburdened by the rainwater and her hair so damp, Stiles' smile soon became a laugh and he ended up going for the same columns to lean on.

When laughter placated, Lydia kept on staring at Stiles and he could not refrain a smirk. Before he could realized it, he was moving towards her, step after step erasing the inches separating them. When he had been close enough, Lydia, with her smile always stamped on her face, slowly raised a hand and passed it thought his hair in the intent of reanimate that tuft staying flat on his brow, wet and undone.

“Wet hair suits you.”

Stiles felt dying at the deja vù. When in the past he had decided to cut his hair buzz, everyone had thought it was to mourn his mother, but no one, not even Scott, knew the whole story. He had sworn to himself he would have let them grow again only when Lydia would have started seeing him as a friend once again, and so he had done.

Now, those fingers brushing on his head untangling his strands seemed able to assuage all the rest. Now, there only were his steady pulse, her gentle breathing and the rain tapping soundly on the salty wetland in front of him. He wished he could kiss her, right there, right then...

When Malia flashed in his mind for a moment, stopping him from acting on instinct, it let Lydia the time to do the first move.

She raised on her toes and leaning forward she chastely touched his lips with hers, almost like she was waiting for Stiles's permission to dare something more intense. But that brush of lips was all it took to send a shiver down the boy's spine and leave him paralyzed for a few seconds. When the girls realized, she wrapped her arm around his neck, giving him another kiss, equally slow but more confident, passionate, demanding.

It was like every word she had withheld for too long were being lavished in that gesture, like she was letting her lips express something for her. Everything about that kiss spoke Lydia's request to be loved and cherished, she wanted to be saved from herself. Not a pretension, but a sweet prayer for a feeling Stiles knew he could reciprocate. And he tried and showed her, using her same language, giving her the same fervour and passion in that kiss, which seemed to last endless moments.

When they pulled apart to regain their breath, Stiles refused to open his eyes. He leaned his forehead on hers and focused on the warm breath skimming his face.

“What are we doing, Stiles?” Lydia asked, overwhelmed by the remorse that seemed to weight on her brow making it slightly furrow. But if the embrace they were tangled in were something to go with, Stiles knew that as strong as his guilt towards Malia could be, the unsolvable bundle of emotions coiling around his heart was even stronger. And he was more than sure Lydia was feeling the same.

“Whatever it is, it feels right,” Stiles bid softly, still panting for the air void he was struggling to fill. He wanted to make her know that kiss was desired by both.

“It does. But at the same time it doesn't,” she retorted. “My mind keeps running to Malia and college... It's all an improbable mess.”

Stiles let out a bitter laugh. His eyes run to the silver skyline, beyond the tower's pillars, beyond the stretch of wet sand separating them from the sea.

“It could be easy, if we wanted to.”

“How? Because, let's say it, for us nothing has ever been easy,” she state matter-of-factly, with yielding tone. She too was now turning her face to get lost in that naturalistic painting, resting her cheek against his chest.

“Let's run away!” Stiles finally blurted out, after letting out a sigh. “Let's leave this place. Like we should have done the first time. We will start a new life away from here. Just the two of us.”

“Stiles, we're 17 and barely graduated. How do you plan to live? _Where_ do you plan to live?”

“Who cares where. We could give up on everything and see the world!” His voice was growing louder now, his face talking excitement and adventure. Lydia smirked amused to that frenzy and decided to play along.

“Or maybe we could build sandcastles. King and queen in a reign that doesn't need us.” And if she had thought Stiles could not smile wider than how he was already doing, well, she had been oh-so-wrong. Her heart had just skipped a beat, she was sure.

“Why not?” he said enthusiastically. “We would only look after ourselves. And yeah, maybe we would be forced to build the castle again because of the rain... or the high tide...” he stopped cocking his head wincing thoughtfully, making Lydia huff a laugh, before resuming, “but I wouldn't mind as long as I have my queen.”

The boy's excitement was unbreakable, pure ecstasy for a dream with no logic.

But that's the beauty of dreams, she thought. They have no logic.

They looked at each other and burst into cackle in unison, clinging to one another like you cling to your own anchor.

  
_We don't know where to go, so I'll just get lost with you._  
_We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together right._  
_These dark clouds over me, rain down and roll away._  
_We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together like_  
_Two pieces of a broken heart._

 

In that embrace there were no more enigmas nor question marks and, for the first time in her life, Lydia started doubting the infallibility of maths. Knowing how to find the variable in an equation could gave her certainty and satisfaction, but there was no emotion. Maybe... maybe let herself go to the insecurities and uncertainties of the future was not that bad. Not if it meant to spend the rest of her days admiring Stiles' smile. Lydia couldn't help from kissing him again, this time without any guilt.

It was the buzz coming from Stiles' phone that broke the spell.

He appeared willing to break the kiss, though, so it was her that pull away first: “Maybe you should read the text.”

“I ignored them all day long. Why should I stop now?” he asked, keeping his eyes closed, ready to pucker his lips again towards the girl's. But Lydia pushed his face away, and when Stiles finally opened his eyes he noticed she was giving him an annoyed glare.

Stiles rolled his eyes fondly in surrender. “Okay, okay. Got it.” He flip the phone out of the pocket and opened the text.

**[Hey man, where have you gone? Party at Lydia's tonight, right?]**

Stiles sighed. Lydia tightened her grip on him again, seeking his eyes. “We should probably go. I have a party to set...”

“Yeah.” The lopsided grin Stiles gave her then were the only guarantee she needed. “But don't think we've done with this.”

She poked her tongue out, departed from him completely and picked up her shoes again before running from under the watching tower towards her car. Stiles didn't hesitate to run after her, and after one last quick kiss, he left her unwillingly to reach his Jeep.

  
_Now I can lay my head down and fall asleep._  
Oh, but I don't have to fall asleep to see my dreams  
'Cause right there in front of me  
There's a boy, lost his way, looking for someone to play.

 

Lydia were disposing dishes with various tastes of fudge she had prepared for the party, when a hand jutted out from behind at her side stealing a piece of her chocolate sweet. She let the time for the hand to retract before finally turning around and finding herself faced with Stiles' guilty expression. He had a mouthful of the just-stolen dessert sticking out of his bite, hands raised in a hold up and the amused glance of who knows he's just been caught red-handed. Lydia raised an eyebrow and looked at him with a provocative demeanor, arms crossed on her chest. When Stiles responded with an impish look, she untied her arms and grabbed the projecting slice to split it, taking him by surprise. She chuckled amused, bringing the piece to her mouth, content as Stiles' eyes went wide.

“Hey!” Stiles muttered when he saw her swallowing the mouthful.

Lydia looked behind Stiles, making sure nobody was around, and then she lean in for a kiss. When she pulled away, Stiles' eyes were still closed but his eyebrows were raised, shocked by her move. “Well, in this case...” he said, sliding up his eyelids.

Lydia laughed and sway away to join the others in the yard without a word.

As much as she tried to make herself desired, however, her mind kept on going back to that afternoon, back to those silent confessions still waiting to be spoken aloud. Since when had she become this? Since when was she unable to stay away from a guy?

No, not _a guy_. Stiles. The boy she had tried to avoid for years in the conviction of not being worthy of a person like him, of such a generous and brave heart. The same boy she had found herself latched to indissolubly in the last few years, due to the countless supernatural events she would have never come out alive if it hadn't been for him.

Lydia spent the whole evening admiring him from afar – while he talked with Scott wrapping his arm around his shoulders, while he made a toast with Danny clattering their bottles together, while he laughed genuinely at Liam's stunned face for something he had just said, reclining his head, exposing his throat, tensing the muscles of his shoulders. She stumbled too frequently upon his glance and she wondered whether she was letting her defenses down too fast. Maybe she should have been less obvious, dissemble it, even though she found it too hard that night.

“You sure you don't need any help to tide the place up?” Kira smiled on the threshold, unsure whether or not to leave her friend to her own devices and catch up with Scott, who in the meanwhile had reached his motorbike.

“Don't wor-”

“I'll help her with the hard work,” Stiles' voice resounded behind her, while one of his hand run to her shoulder as to reassure her.

Kira showed her timid grin and nodded, opening her arms to wrap in a hug the person who had by now become her best friend. “See you tomorrow, then,” she bid goodbye before turning around and running towards Scott.

Lydia slowly closed the door, waiting a few beats before twisting to face the only person left.

“You don't have to help me if you're tired.”

“We're both tired,” he smiled softly. “But if you want me to leave I can go.”

Lydia bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Stay.”

***

“Soooo.... MIT, huh?” Stiles asked, breaking the silence. They were lying on the bed, he leaning backward on the headboard and her arm loose around his waist and her cheek on his shoulder.

“Uh?” Lydia was suddenly shaken from her thoughts. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Where did all the excitement go, Martin?”

“Oh, it will come back eventually. Just not today. Today I have the right to think of how much I'll miss my pack, my friends, my family.” _You._

“If I remember correctly, this morning, someone spoke from the podium, in the school yard, inciting us into not letting responsibilities of the future scare us. Oh but, wait, that was you! What a coincidence.” Lydia started cackling and Stiles followed. “It's gonna be alright. I'll stay around, go to Barkley and probably follow my father's footsteps. You'll go to Boston to become a great scientist and win zillions of prizes. Whatever major you'll choose, you'll be amazing, as usual. And when you'll become the first woman President of the United States I'm gonna be there to say 'I told you!'.”

She laugh. “Is it a threat or a promise?”

“A promise?”

“You don't sound so sure.”

Stiles looked away, suddenly serious, thoughtful, his mind wandering just like his eyes. “It's just that... you know, every time we make a promise something prevent us from seeing it through and we end up drawing apart. I'm done parting from the people I love. I'm done parting _from you_.” Lydia pulled away from his shoulder and Stiles felt a sudden void, the absence, the fear – the terror – that letting her go would have meant losing her once again. Something he had expected to feel for Malia the night before.

She rolled on her side to face him, easing her head on the pillow, her hand under her cheek. But her eyes... they were looking for Stiles'. He now realized how physical distance between them wouldn't have mattered as long as their eyes could keep them close.

He slide down to level her and look her in the eyes in an exchange of attention that revealed itself even more intimate than a simple touch.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The silence,” she answered without looking away. “The noise in my head, the overlaying voices... You turn everything off. Every trouble, every pain, you just make them disappear.”

Stiles smiled. “When we met you said we were both victims of the Law of Murphy, remember?”

Lydia nodded. “Yeah, you said you were its favourite victim.”

“That day, I realized that the more I talked to you, the more my problems abated. Keeping close to you that afternoon gave me the strength to come back home and take care of my mother til the end...” Stiles traced with a finger the embroideries on the duvet they were laying on. “I silence the voices echoing in your head, you keep at bay the demons dwelling mine. Like it's meant. Like we fit- like two poles of the same battery.” She huffed a laugh. “Sum two different, but equally messed up souls, and you'll gain...”

“... A perfect balance.”

Stiles nodded with a grin and a look on his face that talked about his pride for the girl in front of him. And every time she met that look she couldn't believe it was for her. “Two pieces of a broken heart.” Her fingers run across his cheekbones, tracing the dark circles of his eyes. Then her warm palm cupped his cheek and Stiles closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “You're tired. We should sleep.”

But Stiles covered her hand with his to prevent her from moving it, and shook his head. “I don't need to fall asleep. Not when, for the first time in too long, I'm sure reality is better than whichever dream I could have tonight.”

Lydia felt a warm tear gliding down on the pillow and dampening it, before Stiles could instinctively take her face in his hands and kiss her for the thousandth time in that seemingly never-ending day.

“I love you, Lydia Martin.” There was no wavering in Stiles' voice while he pronounced those words, and Lydia forgot for a moment to fill up her lungs. “Always have been and always will be.”

“Since third grade,” she fussed, mocking the old smart-ass she had know a while ago. He tickled one of her sides and they both burst into laughter.

“Don't mock me, you know I-”

“I love you too, Stilinski.”

And now it was Stiles' turn to forget how to breathe.

  
_We don't know where to go, so I'll just get lost with you_  
_We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together right, we fit together right_  
_These dark clouds over me, rain down and roll away_  
_We'll never fall apart, 'cause we fit together like_  
_We fit together like_  
_Two pieces of a broken heart._

 

"I'm home!” Stiles called out as soon as the front door slammed closed at his back. As he stopped in front of the foyer mirror to loosen his tie, he heard steps coming from the kitchen. Lydia appeared with a steaming tea cup in her hand, leaning a shoulder on the door frame. “Hiya,” he said, walking closer to the woman to kiss her for the second time during that hell of a day.

“Hi,” she replied with a tired voice.

“Still working on that research?”

She nodded. “Almost done, luckily. What about you?” she asked, handing him her mud to hold it for a moment while she unplugged his FBI tag from his breast pocket and easing it down on the nearby counter. “How is that murder case in San Francisco going?”

“Stressful. But I don't think it will take too long,” he let himself be spoiled as Lydia unbuttoned his collar.

“Charlie?”

Lydia nodded toward the higher floor. “He locked himself in his room and run out of his window to go play with Mizuki. He though I wouldn't notice. It's all your son...”

Stiles shot her a fake offended glance. “What would that mean?” he asked her with a puppy face. She chuckled and got her tea cup back.

“I just hope he doesn't get lost again on his way to Scott's house. I wouldn't want to go chasing him for all Beacon Hills.”

“If he's all my son as you claim, he will find the way back. Sooner of later.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “It's your genes I'm worried about. If he had only mines, he would not get lost in first place!”

He poked his tongue out. “Should I remind you we both got lost when we were his age?”

“Yeah, but then I found the path out of the Preserve.”

“Yeah, but then I-” pondering pause, “Yeah, no. I don't have any argument against that.”

Stiles followed her to the kitchen, where she placed down her now empty mud in the sink, and stop at the door to watch her. “I was wonder what could we do while he's away?” he said with a sly smile. Lydia shot him a knowing look over her shoulder, pushing away from the point of the counter she was leaning back on and strolling closer to him. It was incredible how good she was at provoking him, even in a sweatsuit, even wearing a shirt that doubled her size and her hair picked up in a messy bun.

She hoist herself up on her toes to level him, but before her lips could brush his she stopped: “Don't know about you, but I have a Fields Medal's research to work on.”

She stamped a kiss on his cheek and strutted towards her office once again.

Stiles thought he love her too much.

  
_There's a boy, lost his way, looking for someone to play._

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, as you might have grasped from the epilogue (or, you know, maybe not), Stiles' expectations didn't exactly fulfilled, because... well, life. Lydia is not (yet!) a President, as she's focusing on her university researches (maths, precisely), while Stiles went a little bit further than he had thought by becoming a FBI agent.  
> Also, Mizuki (meaning "beautiful moon" in Japanese) is Scott and Kira's daughter, who happens to be Charlie's best friend.
> 
> If you went through the whole sappiness without actually getting hyperglycemia or a cavity or something, you are a hero.  
> No seriously, how did you bear it this long?  
> Thank you, really!
> 
> Let me know what you think and be ~~brutally~~ honest!
> 
> PS: I also have [twitter](https://twitter.com/Deianeira__) and [tumblr](http://whisperingfae.tumblr.com/), should ya care :3


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